


Reunion

by metal_eye



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:39:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metal_eye/pseuds/metal_eye
Summary: "He and Adam had tried to convince themselves otherwise—for a while, anyway, that they were friends, above all, and anything that had the potential to fuck that up would have to be forgotten. And it was telling, Kris thought, that the decision had led to no contact whatsoever beyond clipped phone conversations, because neither of them trusted their own will to keep their hands off each other."





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I remember being frustrated with perfect fanfiction sex. Sometimes it's awkward as fuck. (circa 2010)

“Can I have two boxes, please?”  
  
Kris smiled at the server and dug into his wallet for a generous tip. Not everyone in LA would allow you to order two entrees and eat only three bites of one of them before leaving. It smacked of decadence. Kris wanted to laugh at the irony, but he only managed a goofy smile as he dumped three twenties and some change onto the table. He had only one person to blame for his behavior, after all.

_I’m hungry,_ Adam had said over the phone.  
  
Kris had agreed to get food, though he suspected that eating would not be the primary order of business. They were meeting at Kris’s apartment, after all, and for the first time with _her_ gone—no danger of interruption, no fudging about what they would be doing, no pretense that their relationship was any less intense than the opposing ends of a nine-volt battery.  
  
He and Adam had tried to convince themselves otherwise—for a while, anyway, that they were friends, above all, and anything that had the potential to fuck that up would have to be forgotten. And it was telling, Kris thought, that the decision had led to no contact whatsoever beyond clipped phone conversations, because neither of them trusted their own will to keep their hands off each other.  
  
The little experiment had taught Kris something essential—that he and Adam were not friends, had never been just friends. They had fallen into each other’s lives completely and without reason. There was nothing ‘just’ about it.  
  
He wondered if Adam had come to the same conclusion.  
  
Kris was close enough to the Grove to walk back and forth from his apartment, and he anxiously swung his restaurant bag back and forth as he neared the building, eyes scanning the sidewalks for Adam’s Mustang. Kris grinned again, thinking that for someone who tried so hard to be stealthy, Adam owned a decidedly conspicuous vehicle.  
  
There was no sign of it yet, and Kris started to relax as he climbed the back stairs of his building and let himself into the hallway. Perhaps he would have time to clean up the place before—  
  
Nope. Adam was just outside Kris’s door, leaning against the wall, hips out, staring at the screen of his phone as if it might speak to him at any second.  
  
“Hey,” Kris managed, feeling his heart rate increase, again. Damn Adam for always doing that.  
  
Adam looked up, a huge smile sprawling across his face like a window shade opening on sunlight. “Kris!” he beamed. “I sent you a text! Where were you?”  
  
“I got food,” Kris said, as his phone suddenly chimed with a text message notification. He held up the Farm bag, giving in to the goofy grin he had been sporting all day.  
  
“Oh fuck, I love you! Come here,” Adam said, and took two of his long strides to close the distance between them.  
  
The _I love you_ was innocent, the kind of thing you said in cheerful gratitude, but it made Kris happy, made him blush, and warmed his heart as Adam’s arms enveloped him like the branches of a strong tree.  
  
“Missed you. Missed you. Missed you,” Adam was repeating into Kris’s hair, tickling it with every breath.  
  
Kris just sighed and smiled, abandoning language as he so often did.  
  
They drew apart, finally, and there was a pregnant pause before Kris was smartly manhandled into the plaster wall. When he looked up, Adam kissed him, or claimed him was more like it, putting one big hand on either side of Kris’s face and just crashing. One of Kris’s hands was still holding the food, but he hooked the other one into Adam’s belt and pulled, showing his eagerness.  
  
“You were gone for _fifty years,_ I swear to God,” Adam breathed into Kris’s cheek, bending to nuzzle his neck.  
  
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” and even as Kris said the words he knew they were ridiculous since none of it was his fault and Adam had been gone overseas, besides.  
  
“Mmm. Kiss me some more and I might forgive you.”  
  
Kris did, almost dropping the food this time since he wanted to hold Adam with both hands, but somehow he managed to move the handle of the bag into the crook of his elbow so he could wrap his arms around Adam’s shoulder blades. Soon their tongues were meeting, almost bickering, battling in the playful way it always played out during these rare reunions. Adam kept making adorable noises, and Kris wondered once again why they had even attempted to tame this.  
  
Kris lost track of time for a moment, but at some point Adam pulled up and said “Shit,” presumably at the fact that they were making out in a very public hallway, and he wrenched Kris towards the doorframe of the apartment. Kris reluctantly turned around and fumbled to find his keys, which proved to be difficult with Adam laying very distracting kisses along his ear.  
  
It seemed to take forever, but somehow they made it inside, and Kris remembered—at the last minute—to close the door before dropping the food boxes onto the coffee table with a _thud_ and following the draw of Adam’s long limbs onto the couch cushions, thereby entangling himself. “I take it we’ve given up on trying to keep this from happening,” Kris panted, putting his hands under the back of Adam’s shirt.  
  
“Useless,” Adam mumbled between bites to Kris’s collarbone.

It tickled. Kris giggled a bit. “The food is getting cold.”  
  
“Sod the food,” said Adam. “I can order takeout any day, but it doesn’t always get delivered by Kris Allens.”

“You said sod.” Kris’s giggle turned into a laugh. “Too much time spent in England, check.”

“Bugger off,” said Adam with a wink—knowing it sounded ridiculous coming out of his distinctly American mouth—and, with a wicked smile, put both thumbs into Kris’s beltloops and pulled.  
  
The couch was vintage—nothing springy, or even stable—and it squeaked so much Kris would have gotten embarrassed if Adam weren’t removing his pants, because really, Adam was very good at giving head, squeaky furniture or not, and something about the straining springs matched the rhythm of their hips, making the messy union almost musical.  
  
Still, they had never fucked on this particular couch before, and Kris ended up halfway off the cushions with his hips in the air while Adam sporadically whined about not being able to get sufficient leverage without getting rug burn on his knees. It was all rather goofy, but just the right amount of awkward, like when Adam had first called Kris ‘baby’ by accident and had to backtrack, or when they had first tried anything beyond blowjobs and Adam had gotten halfway in before Kris yelled _Stopstopstop_ because it hurt too damn badly and Adam had to finger him the rest of the way through the orgasm.  
  
Even hanging off the couch after they’d both gotten off, breathing and resting and inhaling old furniture dust along with each other’s cologne, Kris decided that he much preferred the imperfections this brought, the aches that came along with the sex, because they reminded him that it was all really happening and not following some half-formed fantasy inside his closeted high school head.  
  
Yeah, they had definitely failed on the ‘friends’ front.  
  
“Do we have to move yet,” Kris said afterwards, head still buried in the pillows, ankles undelicately sprawled onto the wooden portion of the livingroom floor.  
  
“If you ever want my legs to work again…”  
  
Kris sighed and hefted himself back onto the couch, face first, listening as Adam tripped over a boot on his way to the garbage can.  
  
“I’m ordering pizza,” Adam said.

Kris turned around and adjusted his tshirt—the only item of clothing he was still wearing. “Why?” Just as he said this, Kris’s eyes took a trip over the upturned coffee table and the takeout box, dumped onto the carpet and leaking through the rivets of the floorboards. “Oh.”  
  
“I told you I couldn’t get leverage,” Adam grinned. He only had one sock on, his eye makeup was smeared, and he still looked beautiful.  
  
Kris gazed sadly at the forgotten food as Adam picked up his phone and called for pizza, although Kris’s mourning was short lived since Adam promptly hung up after ordering and said, “I vote bedroom this time.”

Kris wanted to protest, wanted to yelp _“This_ time?”, wanted to lie on the couch until the end of the year, but he allowed himself to be lifted by one arm and led further into the apartment by a hand, worrying and somehow simultaneously hoping that they would forget to listen for the doorbell.


End file.
